


Dolor

by Caim (wingblade)



Series: Furiae [3]
Category: Drag-On Dragoon | Drakengard
Genre: 100 Themes Challenge, Angst, Canon Era, F/M, Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 19:10:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15298134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingblade/pseuds/Caim
Summary: Furiae's chest tightens and burns as she inhales — a desperate attempt to provide her body with enough oxygen to survive. But it is too much, too fast — or perhaps too little, too late.





	Dolor

**Author's Note:**

> 100 Theme Challenge (variation one): 10. Breathe Again

Furiae's chest tightens and burns as she inhales — a desperate attempt to provide her body with enough oxygen to survive. But it is too much, too fast — or perhaps too little, too late.

She is not sure when it is that her lungs seem to collapse: when Caim looks at her, or when he looks away; when he smiles at her, or when he frowns. Her "condition" is well known within the castle's grounds by now — not what ails her, truly, but the agonizing gasps for breath that always seem to follow in its wake.

"Weak lungs," the servants call it, clucking their tongues as they beat the dirt out of the castle's rugs out in the courtyard. They murmur, "What a sickly princess. Poor child."

Furiae overhears them as she sneaks out to watch her brother train with his sword. Their words anger her in a way she could never express out loud: _Such filth! How dare they presume to pass judgment upon me with their rotten, dirty mouths? Oh, if only they knew the purity of my love..._

The servants do, however, boast of her beauty: "Such a lovely lady," they declare. "With such bright eyes and witty charm — who do you s'pose the king and queen will match her with?"

 _Caim_ , Furiae sighs to herself. _Please. I've always dreamt of it._

The conversation between the servants tapers off into something much less interesting — basically, not of Furiae or her dear brother — and she scampers off to her destination.

How many times has she come here now, watching her brother stretch and contort his body, falling with ease into the movements of his sword? As Caim counts each thrust of his sword, Furiae counts each drop of sweat that falls from his neck to his chest. Every time he turns her way, her breath catches in her throat until he continues his arduous training. A coincidence, nothing more; he never saw her at all.

There is much that Caim does not see.


End file.
